The Sheltered Wings of the Protector
by ScorpianX0
Summary: Four years has past since Operation Katina and Mobius 1, the legendary ace who single handily ended the Usean Continental War and destroyed the terrorist origination known as Free Erusea, has disappeared. Years later, a new war starts, and Mobius 1 will once again be the key figure in the battles that are yet to come.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a pickup story of WingerFreedom662's story: The Ultimate Ace. Seeing as he wont get around to finishing it, I decided to finish it. You'll notice that I've fixed most of the grammatical errors of the first chapter, as well as make my one personal touches to the story. So read and enjoy. If there is any thing wrong with the story, just let me know

The Sheltered Wings of the Protector

"Amidst the blue skies, a link from past to future. The sheltered wings of the protector… The flames of hatred scorch the skies… Igniting Gaia's funeral pyre."

Chapter One

The Beginning

The male voice of an operator of an orbiting AWACS aircraft cut through the droning 'whoosh' of the tiny fighter's air conditioning.

"Attention Wardog Squadron, unknown enemy is at your twelve o'clock, altitude Angels 20." The pilot of the tiny F-5E Tiger shifter in his uncomfortable seat as best he could, physically restrained by the harness holding him tightly to his ejection seat.

He listened with half an ear as his flight lead, Captain Jack Bartlett, responded to the AWACS call, his gruff voice filling the comm. "Rodger that AWACS. Okay Wardog listen up. We are to intercept this guy as he tries to exit our airspace. Bad news is it looks like a Blackbird."

The pilot in the F-5 quietly groaned. Knowing full well they would never catch that fast bastard in these hunks of junk.

"Good news is somehow our guys managed to peg him with a SAM."

The pilot was actually astonished by this and he just had to ask the question burning his lips, "How the hell did they manage that?"

"Good question, Wardog 4." Bartlett replied, "Guess the pilot must have been asleep or something."

Wardog 4, a pilot by the name of William Crowe, privately agreed. The man was in his mid-twenties and there was way more to him than his ordinary appearance would suggest. Though he was flagged as a nugget in the Osean Air Defense Force, he was, in fact, the legendary ace who destroyed Stonehenge and Megalith, the feared super weapons of the Erusian military, five years ago. Mobius 1. He was just twenty then, now at twenty-five, his already amazing skills had matured to truly a new level of frightening proportions. Few knew where the amazing ace had gone when he had resigned his commission with ISAF and disappeared of the face of Strangereal. Only Crowe and a select few in the ISAF military knew the true story.

After what happened at Allenfort Air Base four years ago, Crowe went through great lengths to vanish off the face of Strangereal. Now he lived in Osea, fully intended to spend the rest of his life living in blessed solitude. He was famous through out the world as Mobius 1, or more commonly known as The Ribbon, or as the Erusian's called him, The Grim Reaper. But that fame came at a price and it nearly cost him and the rest of Mobius squadron to lose their lives and that was the reason he disappeared, to protect himself and his squadron. At least he was grateful for ISAF High Command keeping his identity secret from the international press, as they didn't want to lose their most valuable asset.

Now Colonel Crowe was here. Well, not Colonel anymore. Now he was a Second Lieutenant, a nugget with the OADF. Flying a fighter proved to be too addicting to just leave behind. So, he signed up to the OADF after years of dead-end jobs. He had to be exceptionally careful to mask his skills during flight training even if he desperately wanted to cut loose on some of the more arrogant cadets who all seemed to come from the Officer Training program that Osea ran in most colleges. Those idiotic fools wouldn't last thirty seconds against someone like him or Yellow Thirteen.

"Wardog 4, hello? You awake back there? You better be marking our tail, son." Crowe jerked in his seat as Bartlett's annoyed voice cut through his thoughts.

Shaking his helmeted and masked head, Crowe keyed his mike, "Yes sir. I'm still here. Your six is clear."

"Good. At least your confident." Bartlett said. Crowe glared through his visor at the green and brown camouflaged F-4 that his flight lead was piloting.

"Man, I'm glad you drew the short straw instead of me!" Alvin Davenport said brightly. Alvin, or as he liked to be called, Chopper, was another trainee flying an F-5, as all trainees did. They were the standard jet for ACM, Air Combat Maneuvering that the trainees had been practicing prior to this impromptu mission.

AWACS broke in with a stern "Cut the chatter," then the controller, callsign Thunderhead, started to issue more orders, "Wardog, continue on current course to intercept. Weapons safe." Crowe barley suppressed a sigh. Weapons safe meant do not fire until ordered. Generally regarded by most pilots as a death sentence. Orders were orders, however, and as much as he hated the order, he reached down and flipped off the Master Arm switch on the panel in front of him. Now, even if he pulled the trigger, nothing would happen.

"Rodger that Thunderhead," came a female voice from the plane to Will's left. That was Kei Nagase, a beautiful Oriental looking pilot, "Weapons safe until further orders." Right as the woman said that, the Ribbon's keen vision spotted a rapidly moving black speck in the distance.

"Wardog 4 tallyho, bearing twelve o'clock low." Crow stated crisply. The bogey was on their nose and about five hundred feet lower than the four-ship formation. The ace of aces felt the adrenalin begin to surge through his system. He clamped down the feeling before it made him betray something he didn't want to known. Bartlett came up on the radio and told them to go. The flight banked as one and rolled out right behind the crippled SR-71. Crowe still couldn't believe a SAM was able to damage, let alone hit the Blackbird. As the fastest plane in the world, the Blackbird was famous for never being shot down, that was, however, until Crowe shot one down during Operation Countdown.

As Bartlett and Chopper argued over who would send the surrender request, Crowe banked again and slid into position off Chopper's wing. The new position would allow him to get off a missile shot if it was necessary. His other position would've resulted in him shooting down his flight lead. And knowing Bartlett, Crowe would never hear the end of it.

As Crowe listened to Chopper's weak surrender order, the veteran ace scanned the skies around them. A useless action, considering they were still over Osean airspace, but for a man who spent most of his time over hostile skies he couldn't just quit doing it, even in peacetime. "Negative on the landing gear," Crowe said as he dipped down to check on the Blackbirds underbelly, "Guess he's not gonna surrender."

"Big surprise there Wardog 4," Bartlett said, "Did you really expect him to?"

"Not really," Crowe replied, "I wouldn't have done it." That was true. If he were in the cockpit of the Blackbird, he would have stalled long enough to wait for allied planes to come to his aid, just as he did when he had to escort a damaged U2 spy plane through a foggy Gnome Ravine, while also having to deal with the Erusian radar jammers around the area. That sudden thought caused Crowe to scan the sky one more time.

"You and me both, Kid," Bartlett answered. As Crowe continued to scan the area he couldn't help smile behind his mask. Despite what others may say about Bartlett, Crowe really did like the gruff old flight lead.

"Enemy aircraft identified bearing 280 altitude 6000. Hold until further orders." The radio blared again.

"Crossing the pond to fly cover for their spy plane, huh? Now there's a pilot worth his wings." Bartlett stated. Crowe silently agreed with that. But who in their right mind would risk a war by flying over a superpower and then send fighter into a sovereign nations airspace, especially a superpower like Osea?

"Wardog 4 to Heartbreak 1," Crowe called, "This is to weird. What's going on?"

"I don't know, Kid," The old ace replied, "But it's not our place to ask questions."

Crowe scowled behind his mask and visor. Who would do something so stupid? Definitely not Belka. They were still suffering the effects of the Belkan War of 1995. Ustio? Not likely. There was no reason for them to start a war against an ally country. Maybe Yuktobania? Again no. Yuktobania was a superpower and an ally of Osea. Crowe's radar bleeping an alarm brought him out of his thoughts. Crowe glanced down at it and saw four contacts about thirty miles away from them. The four bogeys continue to fly at them head on. Crowe decided he wasn't going to get caught by four, possibly hostile, planes with a stick up his ass. A deft flick sent the Master Arm from SAFE to Arm. No he was live again and ready to take two of the four fools out in an instant.

"I-I can see them," Chopper stuttered, the nervousness clear in his voice.

"Rodger," Edge, Nagase's callsign, replied. Her voice was accompanied by heaving breathing. Even though she had been the only surviving trainee from a bounce a couple of days ago, she now had time to think about her predicament. That was a real good way to raise the pucker factor.

Crowe, TAC name Blaze, which was an oxymoron considering his usually lazy attitude when on the ground, squinted and spotted four dim specks, "Wardog 4, tallyho. Four bogeys confirmed off our nose, altitude 6000." In contrast with the other two, his voice was calm collected. He had done his hundreds of times before. Now would be no different.

Copy, Wardog 4," Thunderhead replied, "Continue on current course."

"Rodger." That was Bartlett. Now the two opposing groups were within Sidewinder range. Will's instincts screamed at him to break. He trusted it, ramming the throttle to full afterburner and pulling as hard as he could on the stick. His Tiger responded instantly. He was shoved into his seat from both the sudden acceleration and the g's applied to his body by the violent pull. Crowe got out of the way just in time as four AIM-9Ls and tracer rounds singed the space he had just been occupying. Ignoring the startled cries of the two nuggets below, he rolled onto his back at the top of his climb and pulled again. The Split-S took him right onto one of the bandit's tail. Crowe was able to identify the jinking enemy as an older MiG-21.

"Hold your fire!" Thunderhead yelled. Will wanted to yell at Thunderhead to clear them to shoot, but Chopper did it for him.

"Oh come on! Those aren't blanks they're firing out there!"

"Shut your mouth and fire back!" Bartlett retorted as he sped past a MiG-21 on a high speed 'slash-and-dash', using the F-4 Phantoms weight and brute engine strength to his advantage.

"Rodger that! Blaze, engage! Crowe yelled, pulling the trigger for his twin cannons, the pipper right on the MiG attempted to evade him. The guns came to life with a loud 'braaaawwww' and twin tongues of flame and smoke appeared on the lower part of his canopy. The angry red tracers reached out and seemed to caress the MiG in deceptively gentle and harmless looking touch. A tracer struck the fighter's right delta wing and the small fighter blew up in a spectacular orange and red fireball. The ace banked and loaded the g's onto his fighter, broadcasting the call 'Splash One' to let everyone know that they were now three enemy fighters.

"Ah! Dammit! Get him off my tail! Chopper yelled. Crowe's head whipped around and found his fellow pilot in deep trouble. A silver MiG was just yards behind him and pulling lead, trying to get Chopper in his pipper.

"Chopper! Break right!" Crowe screamed at him, "Get him in front of me! I can nail him!"

Chopper didn't seem to understand. But Crowe knew what was going on in Chopper's head. He was afraid of having an enemy on his tail, scared of dying, that he couldn't remember anything about what to do.

'Dammit! I gotta get to him!' pounded through The Ribbons head. He reversed his turn, grunting to try and keep the blood in his head. His vision grayed from the g's despite his and his g-suit's best efforts, time slowed down to a snail pace. Crowe could see all the details on the MiG ahead of him. The sun glinted off the glass of the canopy, the seeker head of the Sidewinder slung underneath the wing and he could see the brilliantly orange afterburner flame flickering as the MiG pilot tried to take out Chopper. He flicked a switch on his throttle, blessing HOTAS as he did. Without it, he couldn't switch from guns to missiles in time. The HUD in front of him had a diamond moving across it, the Sidewinder's IR seeker on his wingtip looking at the target.

Will wished it would hurry up. The diamond merged with the target box around the MiG-21 and turned red. At the same time a loud growling tone blared through his headset, telling him his missile was locked and tracking. He pressed the little red button on the top of his stick. Time sped up and a white and orange blur streaked into his vision from his left and sped across to the right. The AIM-9X tracked beautifully, pulling lead on the enemy in front of him, following his prey's turn so it could deliver its deadly payload. A split second later, the MiG vanished in a large explosion as the missile found it.

"Blaze here, scratch one more MiG," Crowe grunted as he reversed again, pumping out flares and chaff to try spoof any missiles that might have been launched against _him_

"Thanks, Kid!" Chopper said as he rolled away and joined up with Bartlett.

"Next time keep your head on a swivel," Crowe grumbled. He didn't really mind his new teammates, but working with inexperienced pilots meant he had generally had to work twice as hard to keep their asses in the sky.

"Blaze! Break!" Edge's panicked yell brought him back to the task at hand. In his inattention, he had not eased his turn and that meant there were still g's on the plane, which, in turn, meant he was slower than he should have been. A bad combination that screamed 'hey, kill me! Of course, any experienced pilot would have capitalized on it, recognizing an easy kill. At that moment, his missile alarm started beeping at him. Time slowed down for a second, his squad mates were screaming at him, garbled, meaningless, white noise faded by both the alarm and his own deafness, brought on by his intense focus at hand: avoid the speeding missile with his name written on it. Another millisecond passed and he rolled onto his back for a second time and pulled again, letting go countermeasures as he did to spoof the missile. This time though, instead of following through and reversing course, he delayed his pull for what seemed like eternity, even though it was only a couple of seconds. Then he pulled through and kept it, doing a bastardized version of a loop.

The unorthodox maneuver brought him on his opponents. Now the hunter has become the prey. The stunt he had to get on the MiG's tail had put Crowe outside Sidewinder range. The Grim Reaper smiled grimly as he shifted weapons again, going from Sidewinders to Sparrow missiles. A ring appeared on the HUD and surrounded the target designator box that showed the MiG. Crowe pressed the pickle button and the Sparrow lanced from the pylon under his wing and blazed a smoke trail across the sky to the ill-fated fighter. He kept the doomed bastard's in his radar's ring so the Sparrow would keep track.

"Wow, Blaze!" Edge exclaimed in amazement when another MiG became a fireball, "That's three kills!"

"And only one fore me," Bartlett grumbled as he popped off to Blaze's left, "If I'm not careful you're gonna upstage me, Kid."

Crowe chuckled, "I doubt that, sir." he replied modestly, "You're to stubborn to let me do it." He chuckled again. Crowe had a staggering kill count that surpassed even that of the Demon Lord of the Round Table.

"Well, you're three up on Edge and me," Chopper broke in, "I owe you, though. You saved my ass back there."

"Alright cut the chatter." Thunderhead interrupted with the same sentence for what seemed like the millionth time during this mission. His exasperation showed in his voice, even over the radio, "HQ wants you four to RTB and Captain Bartlett to report to the Colonel's office." Bartlett's groan was the only response as they formed up and banked away, heading back to their base at Sand Island.

Several hours later, the members of Wardog that had, against orders, shot down several enemy aircraft were informed that the kills that Bartlett and Blaze racked up were to be stricken from the record.

"Damn, that really sucks!" Chopper yelled to the open air outside one of the maintenance hangars. Crowe sighed in annoyance at his loudmouthed squad mate's outburst.

"Relax, Chopper," he said, "It's no big deal."

"Are you serious?!" Chopper exclaimed, rounding on him, "You should be pissed. You were only two kills away from becoming an ace!"

Crowe inwardly smirked, 'If only you knew, Chopper,' "Like I said, its no bid deal." Crowe answered, shrugging his shoulders. Chopper snorted and Blaze continued, "Seriously. Kills aren't everything, Chopper."

"Yeah, but you would have been the first ace since the Belkan War fifteen years ago," said a new female voice from behind them. The duo turned and saw Edge coming behind them, "Don't you want that kind of recognition?" she asked.

"Not really." Crowe answered truthfully, still remembering what his fame had brought to his squadron at Allenfort. "I kind of like my peace. Besides, famous people get in trouble too much."

Chopper snickered, "Yeah, just look at the Captain." Kei smiled at the remark, while Crowe nodded his head in agreement. Their IP did seem to get in more than his fair share of trouble.

"I was gonna head over to the chow hall to get dinner," Edge said, "You two want to come?" Chopper agreed, but Crowe declined, claiming that he had already eaten.

After the other two had gone, Will turned to look out over the ocean at the setting sun. The fiery orange ball had dyed the normally teal ocean a bloody red. A slight sea breeze lifted his short, fair, brown hair that normally hung just above his blue eyes.

Crowe took a deep breath and reached into his pocket to feel silk. He removed the silk like object out in front of him, and slightly opened his hand to reveal a light blue Mobius strip. A sad smile graced Crowe's face. For six years he carried this small strip were ever he went. It was the only thing he had to remember his little sister, Claire, by. The ribbon was her good luck charm that she normally had wrapped around her wrist. In fact, she loved it so much that she almost never took it off. She gave it to him as a good luck charm for him, saying he would need in the future. Crowe thought how she would have loved to be here, sitting on a beach in the middle of the Pacific, looking at the setting sun. If only she didn't give him the ribbon before that fated day.

"Watch you staring at, Kid." Crowe whirled, startled, and quickly flung the ribbon back into his pocket. Bartlett was standing behind him with a lopsided grin on his face.

Crowe returned with a sheepish smile. "Nothing, sir. Sorry I didn't hear you there." he said, then quickly added, "Uh, whatever it is, I swear I didn't do it."

"No. You sure did do it," Bartlett replied, both men became serious, "Today with those guys at Cape Landers. What happened?"

"Not sure I follow, sir," Crowe answered, puzzled. What was Bartlett talking about?

"You fought like a seasoned ace up there, Kid," Bartlett elaborated, "I've never seen anyone with your fighting skills, except, maybe the Demon Lord or the Ribbon."

"Really?" Crowe replied, tensing up, and rubbing the silk fabric of Mobius strip hidden in his pocket for comfort. This conversation was getting into uncomfortable territory real fast.

"Yeah," Bartlett said, nodding, "You were beyond amazing up there today. A nugget shooting down three enemies in his first real engagement? I can see you going places real fast, Kid." Bartlett patted Crowe's shoulder, "Just wanted to wish you luck after you leave here." Crowe felt the tension drain away, so he stopped rubbing his sister's Mobius strip. Crowe guessed that Bartlett thought he was a shit hot pilot and was just wishing him good luck on his next assignment. Though, that remarked told him he would have to tone down his flying on future missions.

"Thank you, sir," Crowe replied, snapping a crisp salute, which Bartlett retuned, then the older pilot sauntered away, leaving Crowe to reminisce in his memories of family once more.

"Okay, listen up people," Perrault's nasally voice droned, "Today, several flight of UAVs over Sand Island and other points of the mainland. We have pinpointed them originating from the ship," At his words, a point on the map behind him pulsed red, "Wardog is to stop them by any means necessary. You are not to attack the ship for any reason. Am I clear, Bartlett?" Crowe scowled at the obese commander. He thought that since he was in charge of the base, he didn't have to respect those who served under him. Every briefing the ace had with the fat man ended up with some dig on Bartlett.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, now get out there and get rid of those pests." With that, the arrogant Colonel saluted and the pilots walked out to their jets. Today, since they were on an intercept mission, the flight would be in F-15C Eagles, with Bartlett in his trademark Phantom.

Blaze scaled the ladder to the Eagle's cockpit and seated himself in the seat before Pops, the best damn mechanic and crew chief on two continents, helped him strap in and handed him his helmet.

"Thanks, Pops," Crowe said, as he hooked up the mask and the g-suit to the air supple and sat his helmet on his head and strapped it down.

"Good luck up there, Kid," replied the balding middle-aged man with a gentle smile, "Come back in one piece, eh?"

"You bet. I'll see you at the O'club later tonight." Pops just grinned and descended the ladder. Meanwhile, Crowe held down a switch that lowered the canopy and sealed. He began flicking switched with practiced ease and, system-by-system by system, brought the warplane to life. He took a brief moment to pause and listen to the growing hum of the twin turbofan engines behind him as they tried to kick over. He advanced the throttle a fraction and the fighter lurched against the brakes as the hum abruptly became a whine. Crowe pulled back to idle and finished his checklists.

"Heartbreak 1 to all planes," Bartlett's gruff voice crackled in his ear, "Sound off."

"4, 2, 3." came the rapid replies from the pilots as they made sure that their machines were at one hundred percent.

"Rodger that, Sand Island ground, Heartbreak 1, Wardog flight is ready to taxi."

Static followed the statement for a few moments then came the answer, "Wardog flight taxi to runway 27 and hold short. Contact tower on 144.8 when ready."

"taxi to and hold short runway 27, call tower on 144.8 when ready." Bartlett rattled back, "Okay kiddies, you heard the man, let's move out. " The mammoth F-4 next to Crowe began to move and turn to the right, then passed in front of him.

"4 taxiing." Crowe stated then moved his throttle a fraction and felt the Eagle strain and then began to roll. He waited a few moments then pushed the right rudder pedal all the way in. The jet turned and then Brian was on his way on the runway. At the Hold Short Line, he hit the brakes and raised his hands, bracing them on the canopy above him. Only then did the weapons guys approach his jet and removed the safety pins on the eight missiles that weighted down his bird. The techs moved away and Crowe tossed a quick two-fingered salute before he punched 144.8 into the primary radio.

"Heartbreak 1, Sand Island tower, position and hold runway 27." A few feet in front of him, Bartlett's lights came to life and he advanced across the four yellow lines that divided the taxiway from the runaway, "Heartbreak 1, Sand Island tower, you are cleared for take off." A second, a roar cut through Crowe's canopy as the huge Phantom began to roll down the runaway at full afterburner, the twin ten-foot flames scorching the pavement as Bartlett pulled back and roared into the sky.

"Sand Island tower, Wardog 4 holding short runway 27," The Ribbon said into his mask. One more time static followed the radio call.

"Wardog 4, tower, position and hold." Crowe advanced past the hold short line and flicked a row of switches to turn on his wingtip, beacon, and strobe lights. A second later his left foot pressured the rudder pedal all the way in and the jet wheeled left, right in line with the white dashed centerline. He disengaged the nosewhell steering and stopped and began to run down his jet's systems one more time. The ace's heart was pounding in anticipation of hurtling down the runway at more than one hundred miles per hour. "Wardog 4 cleared for take off."

"Cleared for takeoff runway 27," he rambled back. Now there was no stopping him. His left hand pushed the throttle all the way forward. The F-15 shuddered like a horse in the gate, not lie being held by the brakes. His feet left the top of the rudders and the jet began to roll once more, quickly gathering speed, and a deep-throated roar reverberating into his red-hot exhaust. He tapped the pedals to keep the yaw under control. Now that he was finally moving, the control surfaces worked better. A second later he pulled the stick back and held. The jet flew off the runway and into the sky.

Crowe slapped the wheel-shaped gear lever to raise the gear before the wind of the speeding plane's slipstream tore them off. He pulled the throttle out of afterburner to conserve fuel, and still climbing, turned right to exit the pattern. Crowe found Bartlett on the Eagle's massive radar and sped to his location. Bartlett, who had turned off his lights, now flashed them and Crowe slid into position behind, and a little below, his flight-lead. About five minutes passed when the other two joined them and got into their positions, then the whole flight turned onto the course Bartlett had been given to intercept the UAVs.

"Thunderhead, the is Heartbreak checking in," Bartlett called.

"This is Thunderhead. Rodger. Wardog, continue on present course to intercept the recon planes as they return to their vessel," the deep-voiced AWACS replied. The flight continued to streak north on their way to deal with some stupid UAVs. As they continued their way, Crowe began to scan the skies, looking for any white dots in the sky. He knew that they would be probably be dealing with Predators.

Despite its fierce name, the UAV was only good for recon and maybe some light close air support, depending if the flimsy thing carried anti-tank Hellfire missiles or not. He hated the new UAVs that everyone and their brother were hawking as the future of air combat. That was utter bullshit in his opinion. Besides, you couldn't replace an on-location pilot with a remote team. But Crowe wasn't unreasonable; he knew UAVs had their own niche in the combat world. It just wasn't in front line air combat.

"Tallyho, we've got company," Bartlett's voice crackled in his ear, "Show me what you've got, Kid."

"Copy that," Blaze replied as he throttled up and rolled over the top pf Bartlett's F-4. He could see the Predators already, two tiny whiter specks in the distance so he punched it to close the distance and get in range. He flicked his Master Arm to ARM and went to guns. He wasn't going to waste valuable missiles on some plastic UAVs. The first Predator was in range now. He put the pipper on the fuselage and pulled the trigger. 20mm red-hot tracers lanced from the wing root of his Eagle with a buzz saw noise, striking the drone right where the gunsight said. He racked the second Predator with a second burst, this one shattering the wing and sending the UAV into a death spiral. He looped away and rejoined the flight.

"Great shooting, Blaze!" Nagase said enthusiastically, "You're already better than me and we graduated at the same time!"

"No joke, Kid, you're a natural!" Chopper said.

"Uh-huh. There are still drones around. Check your radar." Blaze said. The Eagles greatest asset that it made it such a formidable air superiority fighter was the enormous radar that had an unbelievable range. Well, that and a good pilot how to work the thing. Crowe knew this first hand when he fought against six X-02 Wyvern's during Operation Katina. The inexperienced Wyvern pilots thought they could take him down in an aircraft that was superior to his Raptor, only to end up as a crater on the ground. As the famous Belkan Ace, Manfred von Richtofen once said: "It's not the machine that makes the pilot, but the pilot that makes the machine."

"Kid's right," Bartlett said in his usual gruff overtone, "That ship launched more than one Predator flight." The flight split, Blaze and Chopper going after one element and Bartlett and Edge going for another.

"Mind if I take this one, Kid?" Chopper asked, the excitement clear in his voice.

"Sure, nock yourself out, Chopper." Blaze acknowledged in a bored tone.

"Sweet! Let's see how I stack up!" Chopper pulled into position and opened up. His burst was a little off, but he managed to hit the fuel tanks. The little unmanned plane went up in a fireball, considering its size.

"Whoa! Sure did blow up good!" The talkative pilot exclaimed.

"No surprise there," Crowe replied, "Any weight they save by taking out the cockpit is used for fuel. Little bastards can stay up way longer than we can."

"So lets shoot them down, eh?" Chopper said gleefully, Then we go back to the base and listen to 'the Sound of Madness'!" Blaze rolled his eyes in amusement and Chopper went after the second Predator. Even though Chopper could be annoying sometimes, Crowe had to admit; Chopper had a good taste in rock music, though Crowe preferred Usean metal bands, like 'The Amity Affliction.' The second Predator went into a nosedive, it propeller sheared of by a 20mm high explosive round.

"Wardog 3, report on status." Bartlett said curtly. Crowe spotted two specks heading towards them and he knew it had to be Bartlett and Edge returning.

"Both UAVs shot down, Boss," Chopper said brightly, "I'm glad there weren't any people in these things aren't you."

"Yeah," Edge said, "I don't think I'm ready to take on real pilots yet."

Bartlett snorted derisively; "Don't sell yourself short, Nagase. You did fine against those MiGs yesterday."

"Only because you had my back, sir." she replied, "Blaze took out half the flight on his own _and _saved Chopper from swimming home."

Well, that's me and not you, Edge," Crowe replied, "It was just beginner's luck, that's all. 'And the experience of war.' As much as he wanted to tell them that he was Mobius 1, he knew he couldn't. He'd be endangering their lives if they ever found out the truth. He couldn't relieve that horrible nightmare at Allenfort all over again.

"Wardog, this is Thunderhead," came the almost monotonous voice, "We have leakers again." Blaze's eyes slightly widened. This had to be the third time in less than two weeks! He knew they were out in the middle of nowhere, but this was still Osea. What the hell was going on with the early warning network?

"Same axis as before?" Bartlett asked. Crowe could tell by the tone of the old ace was wondering the same thing.

"280, same as last time."

"God damn, how many planes they got lined up at the border? We only got four on our side. We better abort. RTB. Now! Bartlett rolled his Phantom away, back towards Sand Island. Edge followed suite, leaving Chopper and Crowe to catch up.

"Let's move, Chopper," Crowe said, "We don't want to be around when those guys catch up. Trust me."

"But what about the ship?" Chopper asked, "Are we just gonna leave it?"

"It was never in the orders to begin with," Blaze replied, "Come on. We gotta get out of here." Crowe's tone left no room for argument and the two F-15s turned away to head to Sand Island. Blaze didn't realize that Chopper had fallen behind until he heard the frantic call.

"I can't make it, they're running me down!" Blaze's head snapped around so fast he cricked his neck. That minor pain wasn't helped by the g's that he was loading as he snapped his plane into a hairpin turn to go help his distressed teammate. He lit the burners as Bartlett made some crack at Chopper about the tail position. While that happened, Blaze's fingers danced on the throttle and stick, setting himself up for a BVR shot with one of the AIM-120 AMRAAMs slung to his belly. The missiles onboard radar began to track the MiG on his HUD.

"Hang on, Chopper," Crowe reassuringly said, "I've got him locked up."

"Them take him out, Kid!" Bartlett yelled. Blaze pressed the button and launched the AMRAAM. The missile raced after its target as the ace took advantage of the missile's fire-and-forget feature as he locked another MiG and launched a second AMRAAM. The counter on the HUD marking the time to impact of the first missile hit zero.

"Chopper, how you doing buddy?" Blaze asked. A crackle of static met his ears, and just as his heart began to sink, a very welcome voice burst over the radio.

"Hey, Kid! Could you have cut that any closer?" Chopper yelled at him.

Blaze grinned "Well, don't skip the details. Did I get him or not?"

"Kid, that bastard is on his way for a nice swim." Chopper replied, "The missile buzzed my canopy, man."

Blaze grinned as he zoomed past the enemies in pursuit of the MiG-29 Fulcrum that his second AMRAAM had missed.

"Enemy squadron has commenced counter-attack," a heavily accented voice foreign voice said blankly over the radio. Blaze wondered for a second who it was when he remembered that AWACS was transmitting intercepted comms to Wardog so that they could gauge what the enemy was thinking. A useful concept, but the efficiency of it was limited to the willingness of the enemy jabber. Most of the time, it was either the pilot swearing about being shot down, out of ammunition, or flipping out over the fact that the guy behind him was really good. Crowe had lost track of how many Erusian ground forces and airmen screamed, "It's The Ribbon!" over their radios. It also worked both ways. Blaze had noticed that most of the enemy pilots tended to go after Chopper, probably because he talked so damn much.

The MiG in front of him suddenly reversed his turn, but the ISAF ace was right there with him, matching him turn-for-turn. The MiG-29 was a good platform, Crowe knew, because he had flown one during the assault on the Tango Line. But this guy didn't seem to how to fly it that well. His finger flicked again, and in an instant, he was in guns mode. The pipper trailed behind the MiG just slightly and Crowe was pulling as hard as he could as it was. Pulling nine g's made him feel like their was an elephant on his chest as he fought to stay on the MiG's six o'clock, then the MIG pilot made a fatal error; he Split-S'ed. The maneuver forced the pilot to straighten his path so he could roll onto his back to follow through. The Eagle's superior power and legendary pilot made the attempted evasion a piece of to keep up with. This allowed the pipper to slide into position. The tracers slammed into the area of the MiG's cockpit and the plane kept diving. Crowe didn't need to follow; he knew he had killed the pilot. It wasn't the first pilot he had killed. During the Continental War, he killed countless Erusian pilots, but felt no sympathy for them. They were all Eursians; the people who took everything precious in his life away. Yellow Thirteen was the only Erusian pilot Crowe had respect and sympathy for. But these pilots weren't Erusian. Crowe felt some guilt in killing the enemy pilot.

"Blaze, splash one," he radioed with a monotone voice.

"You splashed an enemy fighter without permission to engage!? What were you thinking Wardog." Thunderhead raged.

A beeping jostled Blaze into the present. An acquisition radar had locked him up. That usually precluded a SAM launch.

"Blaze here," he called, "I'm spiked. Where is it coming from?"

"This is Thunderhead, the signal is coming from the ship," the airborne controller replied," I'll see if I can jam it. Standby." A second later and the spike vanished.

"Thanks, Thunderhead." Blaze replied as he banked away.

"Edge, splash one," Nagase's voice cut in. The engagement lasted for another minute or two before the remaining two MiGs were shot down. Edge managed to rack up another kill as Chopper racked up his first after Blaze had scared the MiG into climbing right into Davenport's sights.

"Picture is clear," reported Thunderhead, just before Chopper spotted a puff below them.

"Missiles!" he yelled into the radio. All four pilots began to jink and roll crazily before it became obvious that the deadly projectile had its eyes squarely on Edge.

"Come on, Edge!" Crowe yelled, "Evade it!" He watched as Nagase tried desperately to spoof the thing, but it was really dialed in, and despite her best efforts, the missile just did not want to break of the lock. In the heat of the moment, Kei forgot to use countermeasures. Then Crowe witnessed something that even took him by complete shock. Bartlett's Phantom came out of nowhere and cut right in front of the missile. The rocket couldn't resist the newer, closer, target and changed course immediately.

Crowe immediately knew what Bartlett was doing. 'You crazy bastard. You're going to sacrifice yourself to save Kei.' he thought His prediction came true when the SAM and the Phantom merged in a most unpleasant way. The resulting explosion was enough to tear off the wingtip and fatally wound the big fighter.

"Captain!" Edge cried, clearly worried about the man who may have just killed himself to save her. How could she have let this happen?

"Hey! Save the waterworks. I'm just gonna bail out here. Make a call to scramble the rescue chopper and my reserve plane, okay?" Bartlett told her trying to inject a reassuring tone in his voice. Then a bright flame lit up the Phantom's cockpit as Bartlett pulled, what most pilots had come to call, the 'get me the hell out now!' lever, and then the flame was followed by a stark white parachute as the seat left the man sitting in it behind to dangle from the risers.

"Thunderhead, this is Wardog 4, Heartbreak 1's ejection confirmed. Scramble the rescue chopper. Now." Crowe ordered.

"Rodger, rescue team is enroute. Wardog, refuel and rearm at the base and get back in the air immediately."

"But the rescue chopper isn't here yet," edge protested. The higher-ups didn't expect the flight to abandon their Captain, did they?

"Rodger that, Thunderhead." Crowe replied icily, "Wardog flight is on the way back now.

"Blaze! You can't really expect us to leave the Captain behind, do you?" Edge cried, shocked that her normally distant, but amicable, comrade could be so cold.

"Seriously, Kid!" Chopper yelled angrily, "What the hell are you thinking!?"

"Enough! Both of you!" Crowe yelled, slipping back into his former self, "There's nothing we can do! I don't like it either but we have our orders. If you a better solution, I'm willing to listen!" The ringing silence that followed his words convinced him that neither did. " I didn't think so. Look, don't worry, we'll RTB, let the rescue team can handle it from here." The other two seemed too scared to talk to him so they clicked their mikes and fell into formation behind them, following his lead without any further complain.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Secrets

**Here's Chapter two, rewritten and the grammatical errors have been fixed. So, read and enjoy. If there's anything wrong, just let me know.**

Debrief: Wardog is to assist the Kestrel in its escape from St. Hewlett Harbor.

Three hours after a quick refuel and rearm, the three F-15s soared towards Port St. Hewlett on a mission to stop the Kestrel from being sunk by enemy fighters. Crowe had managed to calm down, now fully concentrated on flying into combat. He wasn't mad at Chopper or Edge, quite the opposite really, he was just pissed off at the jackass higher-ups. They kept the four pilots under their political ROE instead of allowing them to do what they were trained to do or just cut loose. ISAF High Command had realized this and basically given free reign to all their combat pilots.

"Edge, you lead the formation," Thunder said to the three fighters as they approached the mountains that made a natural bowl around the bay.

"Negative," she replied softly, "You take lead, Blaze. I'll fly on your wing."

"Second Lieutenant Nagase follow your orders!" Thunderhead yelled.

Kei, instead of being cowed and taking lead, peeled up and to the left to put herself off Blaze's wing. "No. Blaze is leading, I'll protect his six. And I'm not going to lose another flight lead."

"I'll stick to the tail position," Chopper muttered. It was clear that the now tested by fire fighter pilot wasn't looking forward to another round of combat.

A deep voice cut in the flight's banter, "Quick screwing around. This is war. The enemy's all over, they'll eat you." The source of the voice appeared in an F-14A Tomcat that roared over the flight's head, "This is Captain. Snow, callsign Swordsman, give me your position."

While a missile cruiser gave him a bogey to deal with, Blaze started to order his flight, "Okay Wardog listen up," Crowe stated curtly, now once again in command of a squadron, "Our mission is clear. We make sure the Kestrel makes it out of port in one piece. Weapons free, and go after any target you deem a threat but try keep each other covered." Even as he spoke, Crowe was busy locking up an A-6 Intruder that was angling towards the 3rd Fleet as they tried to leave St. Hewlett.

"Blaze engaging, Fox Three!" The AMRAAM also as a Slammer, dropped from his belly with a dull 'clunk' and roared after the Intruder, who seemed to realize his situation and pulled up. Too little, too late. The Slammer struck, a direct hit that turned the sluggish plane into a streak of burning fuel and shattered fuselage. As the remains of the doomed A-6 splashed into the ocean, raising an ice white column of water, Blaze looped away and began to scan the sky around him in search of more targets. By now, the other two had found potential kills of their own. Edge was in hot pursuit of another Intruder and Chopper had gone after a Yuke F-5 that had shown to try and provide top cover. Edge let a missile go in the second Crowe had taken to keep an eye on his wingman. Chopper, on the other hand, seemed to be having a bit more difficulty. Crowe supposed it was because Edge was a bit better than Chopper, and since the Tiger was designed for dogfight in the first place, the enemy could keep trying to dance around in Chopper's sights.

"God dammit!" Chopper yelled, frustrated that the Yuke pilot kept picking just the right time to jink and force Chopper's aiming solution would be spoiled, "Someone give me a hand with this guy!"

"I'm on the way, Chopper," Blaze responded since Edge had decided to pick on another A-6, "Go high and I'll scare him up to you." As Chopper pulled, Blaze dipped down low and went to guns. No sense in taking Chopper's kill, or wasting any more missiles.

Blaze was now in range, "Ready up there, Chopper?" he asked and at Chopper's affirmative reply, pulled the trigger, purposely keeping his pipper low to scare the hell out of other pilot. The plan worked beautifully; as the tracers from the cannon in Crowe's Eagle wing root rippled past the F-5, the Yuke pilot got spooked and pulled up as hard as he could. Straight into Chopper's talons.

"Chopper, Fox two!" The loud-mouthed pilot cried over the radio as a missile left the pylon under his right-wing. The missile left a smoke trail from the wing of Chopper's F-15 al the way to the enemy F-5. An instant later, the Tiger vanished in a spectacular explosion. ""Yahoo! Chopper splash one!" the ecstatic pilot yelled as he pulled up to avoid debris.

"This is Blaze, kill confirmed. Nice shot, Chopper. Crowe called as he reversed to check his and Chopper's sixes.

"Hey, Kid! Did you see that? I got him." Chopper's excitement was now starting to get on Crowe's nerves.

"Yes, I did, Chopper." he replied, allowing some annoyance to color his tone, "Now get back on track or you're gonna be fish food." A faint gulp just barley reached Crowe's ears as the two split up to go seek more kills.

"The Kestrel is in open waters! Bon voyage, guys!" a random voice said over the radio. Crowe looked down at the harbor below him, and sure enough, the Nimitz-class carrier was past the bridge that separated the sheltered urban are from the open ocean. And he could see a blockade waiting for the approaching carrier.

"Wardog, form up," he ordered. A couple of seconds later, both Edge and Chopper glued themselves to his wings, "We've got a blockade ahead. The Kestrel's gonna have to run it."

"Roger," Edge replied swiftly, "What are we supposed to do?"

"We're going to provide air support and defense suppression."

"That's all well and good, Kid, but we're not exactly equipped for taking on a fleet y'know." Chopper piped up.

He does a point, Blaze," Edge added, "How are we going to make sure the Kestrel makes it through?"

Crowe smiled grimly behind his oxygen. These two were about to learn how he managed to single-handily destroyed the Aegir Fleet during Operation: Rough Seas.

"Look at the Kestrel. What do you see?" he asked. If either wingmen found his question strange, their voices didn't betray them.

"I see… F-18s?" Edge answered. She did feel a little apprehension about Blaze. What did the Kestrel have to do with their mission? Beside that they had to make sure that it got out to sea.

"Good eye." Blaze replied, nodding his head, satisfied. "Those Hornets are probably loaded with anti-ship Harpoons. We kill the planes wanting to kill them while they tear that blockade ahead to shreds."

"Sounds like a hell of a plan, Kid." Chopper said.

"Okay, let's go." The three Eagles rolled and entered dives, each one locking up and heading for one target or another. Tracers from the enemy from the enemy fleets point defenses streamed past the canopy but the trio ignored the potential death passing by their jets. Crowe had already done this kind of thing before with the Aegir Fleet, but this was still dangerous. Target fixation could even get an amazing ace like himself killed faster than one could blink.

Blaze pulled up just mere feet from the waves. The AA couldn't reach him here. They would have to shoot their own hulls to get a bead on him. This was the same tactic he used against the Aegir Fleet. He pulled up fast, risking leaving behind some paint on the mast of a destroyer he careened over.

'Ah, just like back in Comberth Harbor.' he thought, taking a quick moment to reminisce in nostalgia. Crowe quickly got back to the task at hand, shooting down the Intruder in front of him. The two were coming head on. Good thing the AMRAAMs on his belly were all-aspect, otherwise he would had to take the stern shot.

"Blaze, Fox Three," he called as he pushed the release button. His missile was away. He knew that. The jet had lurched for a moment before settling out. By the time had registered that, Blaze's hands had the F-15 in a hard climbing turn to get out of the way or risk becoming a fireball himself.

"Confirm kill for Wardog 1," Captain Snow called before coming into Crowe's vision, "Mind if I join? I can't seem to find my flight."

"Not at all, Captain. The more the merrier," Crowe answered. The two pilots went after a couple of Phantoms that had come from nowhere. These guys were different from the average pilots that Blaze had dealt with up to that point. They actually tried to dogfight _him_.

The four speeding fighters merged and began the dance that had gone in the sky since airmen had small arms on their person. The Osean pair was at a lower altitude, so the opening move went to the Yukes. The Phantoms rolled and dove on them. Snow climbed up to meet them, but Crowe actually mimicked the Yuktobanian pilots and dove as well. The Oseans had only been a few thousand feet so the speed gain wasn't that great, but the moved caused the Yuke air to split as well. As Snow began a turning fight with the first Phantom, Blaze was busy trying to get the second off his tail. Crowe whipped his jet all over the sky, just a couple hundred feet from taking a nice swim. He grunted and gasped as the g's assaulted his body, making every move of his arms and feet a test of his stamina and endurance. For a pilot with the strength of an entire ISAF squadron, even he was wearing at the bare edges of his perception.

"Blaze! Where are you?!" Edge yelled, as she scanned the skies for her flight lead.

"Kinda busy right now, Edge," Crowe grunted as he reversed for what must have been the millionth time, "Can I get back to you?"

"Now's not the time for jokes, Captain!" she cried, startled by his lightheartedness, even as he was going to turn. In his rearview mirror, he saw the Phantom move to follow. He smirked; the idiot didn't realize he was being set up. By trying to match Crowe's maneuvers turn-for-turn, the Phantoms had bled a lot of airspeed, and being down low meant he couldn't dive to regain that speed. However, the Eagles engines were so powerful that their combined thrust actually _exceeded_ the fighter's weight. A quick switch on the HOTAS to get him into the right weapons mode, and if Crowe's predictions were correct, he should come out right on the guy's tail.

He rolled level and hauled back on the stick. The Eagle screamed upwards in a maneuver that the heavy Phantom couldn't possibly keep up with. Now Blaze was above his opponent and starting to loop down on the Phantom, who mistakenly tried to match the Eagle's sudden climb. While the Phantom was slowing down, the Eagle had come over the top of his climb and was starting into the follow through of a loop that had the pipper for the gun sliding into position on the Yuke pilot, Blaze made the switch as he started the climb.

The poor guy tried to jink, but the Phantom was too slow, too heavy. Blazed pulled the trigger. As angry red death perforated the fuselage of the doomed plane, Crowe spotted twin flares shooting up from the dead plane.

'They ejected' he realized as he let go of the trigger instantly. No point in wasting invaluable ammunition on a dead fighter. He pulled up to clear the wrecked Phantom and to get some altitude so any enemy pilots looking to snag an easy kill don't bounce him. Once he had hit a reasonable altitude, he lit the burners and regained the energy he had lost in the little skirmish.

"Captain Snow, what's you're position?" he called, looking for the Tomcat pilot.

A minute passed and just before he repeated the call, Snow's voice came through his headset. "I'm about a mile behind you, Wardog 1," Snow said calmly, if a little winded, "guess you got yours, too?"

"That's affirmative, Swordsman," Blaze answered, "AWACS, bogey dope."

"Wardog flight, Swordsman, two bogeys inbound, bearing 080, altitude Angels 10," Thunderhead responded.

"Rodger that. Alpha flight, this is Alpha 1, intercept targets," Swordsman commanded. Blaze just shrugged. If Snow wanted the targets, that was fine by him. Crowe was getting close to bingo fuel anyway.

"Okay, have fun, Swordsman. Wardog, fuel status?" Crowe called. If he was low, he could bet the other two were as well.

"Wardog 2, five thousand pounds." Edge reported.

"Wardog 3, four thousand five hundred pounds." Chopper reported. Chopper had gone after an Intruder and almost got ambushed by a MiG as he watched the A-6 spiral into the Pacific Ocean. He wouldn't be making that mistake again anytime soon.

'And I have five thousand two hundred. That's a little to close. Chopper only has five hundred pounds surplus. We've done all we can,' Blaze thought. Disappointment flooded him. That surprised even him. Was he starting to enjoy combat that much? Maybe he was; Crowe loved the sheer adrenaline rush of combat, the glory of the kill and the euphoria that came from it. But that kind of attitude was no way he was going to lead his squad. Running his squad into the sea with no gas just so he could enjoy the kill was not something he would do.

"Wardog to Thunderhead. Getting close to bingo fuel. Permission to disengage and RTB," Crowe said.

A moment later the airborne controller came up, "Roger, Wardog. RTB vector 099. Thanks for the help."

"Rodger, Blaze. Lead the way," Edge acknowledged.

"One, two, three. Three planes. Count 'em up man; we're all back safe. I can' _wait_ to tell Bartlett when they pull his ass out of the ocean!" Chopper laughed as the flight turned back towards home.

Two hours later

"What!" Chopper yelled at the top of his lungs. The Wardog flight had landed back at Sand Island about an hour and a half ago after helping the Third Fleet make a successfully run the blockade at Hewlett and break out into the open ocean. They had touched down feeling pretty good about themselves and the success of their first real mission without an IP watching their every move and pampering them by coming to their rescue. Well, Nagase and Davenport felt good about it. To Crowe, however, it was a completely different story. The mission was just one more notch on his belt, and just a few more hours of flight time, plus the added bonus of a few more kills to his death list. That still didn't make him fell good, though.

He felt great, wonderful, even! He had led a flight to victory without losing either wingman. The last time he had commanded a formal was in the assault on Megalith. But that had been more of a group of ISAF's top pilots flying under the banner of the Ribbon. He hadn't really issued any real orders, Sky-Eye had said for all aircraft to follow him, but all Crowe really did was light the afterburners on his Raptor and blow through the green Yellows who tried to stop him on his way to assist the ground team who were trying to get to the control room, while Crowe took out the generators and then, finally, the central missile after the ground team had cleared the blast door.

It was different now. Now, he had to look after two less experienced pilots. And after what happened at Allenfort, Crowe made sure an event like that would never happen again, not to these two. But given that most pilots had giant ego's he would be lucky to get out with his sanity still intact.

The reason behind for Chopper's outburst now was the fact that Captain Hamilton, the base vice-commander, had informed them that the rescue team sent after their gruff captain had only found an empty life raft and a retreating enemy ship, the same one that launched the SAM at Nagase.

"Y-you can't be serious," Edge almost whimpered, her facing showing a helpless look.

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant, I am quite serious," Hamilton replied coldly. His tone matched his appearance. The man wore his OADF blues uniform with precision and had ice blue eyes that matched the uniform. The stark blond hair, exactly within regulation, completed the cold appearance. Crowe's eyes slightly narrowed; there was something about Hamilton that sent on him on edge, he just didn't know why.

"You should have let us open fire on that damn ship!" Chopper screamed at the top of his lungs, "Then we wouldn't have this friggin' problem."

"You know we couldn't done that, Chopper!" Crowe retorted, shocking everyone present, the normally quite, secluded man never got angry at any time, "There's nothing we can do right now. I don't like it either, but that's how it is."

"How the hell can you be so damn _cold_!?" Chopper yelled, grabbing the front of his new flights lead's olive drab flight-suite.

"Lieutenant Davenport, release Lieutenant Crowe immediately or go before a JAG. It's your choice," Hamilton stated, his voice just as lifeless as before. Chopper glared angrily at his superior, before finally relenting and letting go of Blaze. "Good. Now there's the small problem of your flight lead. Based on Lieutenant Crowe's performance today during the evacuation of the Third Fleet from St. Hewlett, the decision has been made to make him temporary flight lead until Lt. Colonel Ford can come down from Oured," Hamilton rose from his chair he had taken when he first entered and saluted the three pilots, who knew the conversation to be closed with no room for argument and so stood and returned the gesture.

After the icy officer had left, Chopper rounded on Blaze, "So? How 'bout it, huh? How come you're so damn cold!?" At least this time he didn't try to assault Crowe, who looked Davenport straight in the eye, and for the first time out of an aircraft between them, allowed the _real _William Crowe to come through, "Because I have to be," Crowe answered icily.

With that, he turned on his heel and left. Chopper was left there stunned. _Something _in Blaze's eyes made him want to piss his pants. He didn't know what it was, but there was more to Blaze that met the eye.

Crowe was stalking down the hall in a bad mood. Some might say he was pouting, but to those who knew him well would say it was his own way of letting of some steam. The man hadn't open to anyone here in Osea, and for a good reason. But he knew that would have to change once the two rookies of Wardog finally got their _real _baptism by fire and started to get that the fact that in war, nothing was pretty. They had to have at least grasped the concept or they would be flying airlines instead of the ADF.

Crowe had reached his room now. After entering, he looked around at the quarters that the Osean military had graced him with. He used to have roommates, but they had been killed in the bounce that happened a few days before the war started. Now he was the only one in the room, and he was fine by that. He had been alone for six years anyway. The doorway he stood in was directly across from a window that had a great view of the runway and had white Venetian blinds on them. Under the window was a small cabinet for their personal belongings. A small aisle separated the two bunk beds that allowed for four airmen to sleep in the same room. The bottom bunk on the right pair was his. The other tree beds had been stripped to their mattresses and the personals put into boxes and removed after the three other occupants had been killed. His stuff occupied those spaces now. Crowe dragged a trunk from under his bed and opened the keyed padlock on it.

Inside, packed neatly into it, were the two remnants of his old life. The first was a family photo of Crowe, his sister, Claire, and their parents. The second was a tarot card inside a plastic gem case that held the twenty-second arcane; The World. He picked up the photo, and gave a sad smile. He missed his parents and his sister more with each day, but a least they were in a better place.

Placing the photo aside, he reached back into the trunk and picked up a yellowing newspaper clipping. The headline blared, "Lone ISAF fighter destroys Stonehenge." The ace smirked at the article. This had been that had cemented his place in world history. He couldn't have done it without the other ISAF squadrons backing him up, though. Omega squadron focused on the triple-A and SAM sited that had littered the Railgun facility. While Rapier squadron, focused on the ECM emitter in the center of the ring of turrets. Those actions had allowed him to take out the turrets. The designers of Stonehenge had given crucial information on how to destroy it. There were three methods to destroy Stonehenge. Kill the operators in the control booths, blow up the supports that held the massive cannons, or go the insane route and blow up the barrels as the cannons were firing. Crowe went for the easier method; killing the operators.

He even had enough ammunition left over to kill Yellow 4.

The ace shook himself from the memory and pulled out another picture. It was taken a few days before that horrible day at Allenfort. He was in the middle, grinning, surrounded by his squadron mates, all in front of the only surviving experimental X-02 Wyvern. It was the same one he had flown after a Special Forces team raided Free Erusia's base of operations after he shot down the six Wyverns that had attacked him. He landed his Raptor at the base, and then flew the Wyvern back to Allenfort for ISAF R&D to research.

A knock at the door made him jump and start scrambling to shove everything back in the trunk. But before he could, the door opened and Nagase walked into the room.

Crowe's hard-won peace vanished before his eyes. The picture of him and his squadron was safely placed in his trunk, but the news clipping that were only printed in Usea were still out on his bed, as was his family photo, in her full view.

"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled as to why her flight lead was shoving stuff into a blue and chrome trunk clear on her face.

"You really should nock, Nagase," he chided gently. He had to distract her from the newspaper. Hopefully, she hadn't realized what it was yet, "What if I had just gotten out of the shower?" Embarrassing her to leave would work, it worked on Claire before. He could always apologize later. To his great surprise, a blush formed around her cheeks and she spluttered something about him not having enough time to shower.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the yellow newspaper, in an effort to both find another subject, and take his attention off the obvious color in her pale face.

Crowe watched helplessly as Edge crossed to the bed and picked up the newspaper. Nagase scanned the newspaper, quietly reading it. "Will, this a newspaper article of the day Mobius 1 destroyed Stonehenge. Why do you have this?"

Crowe had to think fast on his answer. Finally, he replied with "Well, you see. He's the reason I decided to join the OADF."

"Really? Me, too!" his wingman exclaimed, "I was actually a First Officer on Air Ixiom before I became a pilot. He saved my life from Erusian interceptors!"

Crowe's eyes winded. When he was on a combat air patrol, Sky-Eye had informed him to go and protect two airliners carrying Erusian defectors to ISAF. That mission was the most critical of the war, aside from the destruction of Stonehenge that is. Without those defectors, they would have suffered many more losses to the feared Erusian super-weapon than they already had. But what shocked Crowe was the First Officer Nagase he heard over the radio of Flight 701 was in fact Kei was a complete surprise to him.

"Seriously?." Blaze said in complete shock.

Edge nodded. "Yeah. I saw it happen with my own eyes. He took on three whole flights on his own." Kei gave away a small giggle, "I even remember him giving me a salute before he left." she said, amazed at what Mobius 1, what _he, _did.

Crowe was now the one blushing in embarrassment and rubbing the back of his head while giving off a nervous chuckle.

"So why do you have this, Crowe? These articles are only printed in Usea." Kei continued.

Crowe inwardly grimaced. How was he supposed to tell Nagase that wouldn't hint to her that _he_ was Mobius 1? Maybe, this time, half the truth then.

"Well, the truth is." he started, seeing Nagase hanging on his every work. "I'm not Osean by birth. I used to live in a small town near the edge of the Erusian, San Salvation border until I was twelve." It was close enough to the truth anyway. Lying to his comrades would normally be the last thing he would do, but the anonymity and protection he so desperately desired came first.

"You lived near San Salvation? What's it like" Edge asked.

"I don't know. I was only twelve when we moved, so I don't remember much of it. Besides, when the Erusian's invaded San Salvation, we had already moved to a suburb outside Oured."

"Oh," her disappointment was clear. This is why he didn't want it known that he was Mobius 1, to protect himself and the others. Plus, she'd ask him to show her maneuvers, tell war stories, maybe even ask him on a date since he did save her life already.

"Is that a picture of your family?" Nagase asked, pointing to the small picture next to Crowe.

"Yeah." Crowe answered, looking at the picture.

"Can I see it, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure, here" Crowe said, handing his family photo to Nagase.

Kei looked at the picture for a few moments, her eyes darting between a handsome, tall man with brown hair, brown eyes and a beard, and a beautiful woman with blond hair and deep blue eyes. In front of the adults was Crowe, and a brown haired girl a couple of years younger then him. "Is this little girl your sister?" Kei asked.

"It is her name was Claire." Crowe answered, albeit a bit quietly.

"She's cute." Kei said, smiling at the happy family photo, before catching the distinction of Crowe statement 'Was my sister.'

"Is she…?"

"Yes." Crowe said sorrowfully.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Blaze. How did she die?" Kei instantly regretted asking a personal question like that.

Crowe's head slightly dropped, "If it's okay with you, I'd rather not talk about, Nagase."

Kei nodded, happy to end the topic right there and handed the photo back to Blaze. After that, Kei decided to talk about some other stuff for a while. A little later, Kei decided that it was best to leave Crowe alone for a while. She said goodbye and left his room. Crowe looked at the photo one last time before he glanced at the clock. The red luminous numbers showed that it was six o'clock. Edge had come in about five o'clock. He'd spent an hour talking with her about his life in Usea, while leaving bits about his sister. He gave a heavy sigh, and placed the newspaper and the photo back away into his trunk and locked it. He headed out into the breezy night, going towards the hangars.

Peter N. Beagle had the look of a fit man going into his golden years. The beer gut he had on him certainly never been there when he had been the feared pilot know far as wide as Huckebein the Raven. No one knew that of course, except Bartlett. Young Will Crowe wasn't the only one with secrets. Yep, Pops did know that blaze was really the legendary Ribbon. He found out by accident.

He'd had been watching a documentary on the Continental War that had been on when the former Belkan ace had taken a vacation to the beached of southern Usea. Pops had been a pilot for as long as he cared to remember. A pilot who could fly even better then that of the Demon Lord of the Round Table fascinated him. During his stay in the hotel near Crowne Beach, he had been watching a special on T.V. on the terrorist attack on Allenfort Airbase two years ago. The narrator had been talking about the rumors of what happened to Mobius 1, accompanied by the only known photograph of the pilot's face. He had remembered shaking his head at the young man, just barley out of his teens. Only twenty years old and he was already a legend. Pops guessed he left because of the terrorist attack on Allenfort. Pops couldn't blame him though; poor kid nearly went through the same thing the Demon Lord went through. That was the last time Pops had thought he would ever see The Ribbon.

Then the latest batch of nuggets came down from Hierlark Base to Sand Island for what was known around the base as 'Bartlett's Boot Camp.' Pops had been more surprised than he had been in years. The last time he had been this shocked had been when his homeland had nuked itself. If that had scared the crap out of him, this nearly gave him a damn heart attack. There, among the nervous trainees, looking completely at home was The Ribbon himself. 'Once a fighter pilot, always a fighter pilot, no matter what kind of crap gets thrown your way.' Pops guessed. He knew the young ace didn't want to be found out, and for good reason. He would purposely fly as if he had the barest grasp of flying, even though he could have taken that little F-5 and make it dance.

Hey, Pops, working late?" Ah, speak of the devil. There was Crowe now.

The balding man turned to address the speaker, "Ah! Blaze! Welcome to my humble kingdom!" The Raven said, smiling, and sweeping his arms out to encompass the spotless maintenance hangar.

The Ribbon returned the smile, "And what a kingdom it is, Sire," he answered, playing along the joke, "May this lowly whelp intrude on His Majesty's domain?"

"Feel free, but touch nothing, peasant," Pops threatened good-naturedly. Both men laughed while Blaze picked up a tool and went for a loose fuel line on the engines Pops was working on. In addition to their duties as a pilot, all the nuggets at Sand Island had to pick up a secondary specialty so they could help the NCOs at the units they would end up at. Blaze had picked up mechanic, as he knew planes inside and out from tinkering them during his free time as The Ribbon.

Both men had been working for an hour, conversing back and forth, when the air raid siren began to blare.

"What the hell?" Crowe muttered to himself, "Hey, Pops! Did they tell you about any exercises today?"

"There are no exercises going on today, Kid." Pops replied, going whiter, "We're under attack!"

Crowe grimaced, "Damn! I need to get to my bird!" The younger ace yelled as he sprinted for the gaping doors of the massive shelter.

"Crowe! Wait! There's no time!" Pops yelled, "Come with me, we just got some new birds from HQ. Three aren't combat ready, but one is fueled, armed and ready to go!" The old man shocked by the change in Blaze's demeanor. He went from looking like a scared nugget, to the battle harden ace, confident in his abilities to handle anyone, anytime, and in any fighter.

"Show me," he commanded curtly. Pos nodded and led him to the other side of the hangar where there were four planes under tarps. Crowe instantly knew what was behind the familiar silhouettes of the covered warplanes. Pops walked over to one in front and gave the tarp a solid tug. The tan sheet fell away to reveal an F-22A Raptor in all its deadly glory.

"A Raptor," Crowe murmured, a faraway look in his blue eyes. Pops knew he was reliving old battles from long ago. After all, he did it himself sometimes.

"Yep, and according to the orders I got from Colonel Perrault, they are going to be assigned to Wardog."

"Now way," Crowe replied, awestruck. He would be back in the cockpit of a _Raptor_ again? This was a dream come true.

"Yeah. Now take it and go kick their ass, Kid," Pops paused wondering if he should let Crowe in on what he knew. Yes. He would tell him. That way he had someone to talk to if the going got rough.

Thuds from dropping bombs met the duo's ears. In a heartbeat, Crowe had flown up the ladder and was starting to run through the start-up procedures so fast it almost made Pops head spin. But then again, this was _the _Mobius 1, after all and in his trademark jet. Of course he would be able to fly it. No pun intended.

Pops took a deep breath to steel himself, and in a low voice that barely carried past the two aces, told Blaze on last thing, " Go show them what it means to tangle with The Ribbon."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Discussion

**Chapter Three is here! Sorry for the long wait, anyway, here it is. So once again, read and enjoy. Leave a review if you'd like, and if there is anything that needs to be fixed, just let me know.**

Crowe's head snapped up and his blue eyes fixed with a wide-eyed stare that screamed to know how the hell Pops had found out. No one was supposed to know! How the hell did the old flight mechanic found out his secret when even the base commander didn't know?

The Belkan gave Crowe a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, Kid. Your little secret is safe with me. We'll talk when you get back," Pops tailed off before he added, "Come see me later and I'll tell you a secret of my own." Maybe the two of them could share things that they couldn't tell anyone else. Pops was a defector and was being hunted by the Grey Men, and Crowe was a famous ace looking to escape his past. Yep, they could definitely help each other out. Or not. It all depended on what the younger man did from here.

Crowe heard the promise to keep his secret and nodded solemnly. Pops had some explaining to do when he got back. After finishing his start up, he moved the Raptor out of the hangar and on to the taxiway, moving as fast as he could on the runway.

"Wardog 1, Sand Island tower, scramble. Takeoff as soon as you enter the runway. Join Wardog 2 and 3 in keeping the bombers from taking out the runways."

"Wardog 1 copies. Any chance of getting more birds in the air?" Crowe asked, even as he made the turn onto 27 and lit his afterburners.

"We'll try, but don't get your hopes up. We have a lot of empty planes with no one to fill them. You three are our most experienced combat pilots right now. Don't let us down," said the controller, watching his radar screen in the tower trying to find enemy fighter to vector Wardog squadron to intercept.

Crowe couldn't help feel nostalgic again. He was once again put in a similar situation from his days as the Ribbon again, defending an airbase from enemy bombers. On his first combat mission, he was ordered to take out six Erusian Tu-85 bombers on their way to Allenfort Airbase. It was on his first mission that he became an ace. Blaze keyed his mike as he pulled on his stick and felt a surge of sheer joy run through him as the Raptor soared into the sky, aided by its thrust vectoring system. The engine nozzles on the back of the Raptor could help Crowe's jet swivel up and down, allowing him to outturn and outmaneuver any plane. After all, its how he managed to outperform against the six Wyverns that desperately tried to shoot him down during Operation Katina. Now he had to find his flight, not even concerned if Chopper still felt any resentment over his earlier argument. They were fighter pilots; they could compartmentalize and move on, leaving their argument behind on the ground.

"Glad to see you made it up," came Pops voice over the radio, asking how he was doing, as if the man didn't even know whom he was. Crowe was grateful for the mechanic not telling the whole base who he was.

"Yeah, I'm up. Thanks again for the new bird, Pops," he answered.

The Belkan laughed at the gratitude he heard in the ace's voice. Anyone else wouldn't have heard it, but Pops could hear the relief in Crowe's voice at being able to fly the jet that he could make it do anything he wanted. And nothing gave an ace a true chance to shine like a jet he knew like the back of his hand. The Ribbon could any enemy in any jet, but give him an F-22 and people would come to understand why the Erusians nicknamed him the Grim Reaper.

"Is your plane alright?" Pops asked, needing to know if there was a problem with Blaze's Raptor so that he could fix it to make it work better for the ace. Pops would also tear the other Raptors apart to hunt for the same error so it didn't compound and kill someone that he didn't want dead.

"Works like a dream. I honestly can't remember the last time a plane flew this well. Thanks again, Pops," Blaze replied, knowing the old mechanic would catch the hidden meaning behind his words. Maybe having the old mechanic know about him wouldn't be so bad.

"That's good to hear. Better find your wingmen before you three end up shooting each other." Even if Crowe laughed that off, he knew that was a very real possibility, especially now. They had been caught off guard, were under attack at night, and he was flying a stealth fighter. Edge and Chopper would have extremely twitchy trigger fingers and would be prone to shoot first ask questions later.

"Edge, Chopper, where the hell are you guys?" he nearly yelled into his mask. Now he was Blaze again, playing the part of a green combat pilot thrown into the middle of a surprise attack.

"We're about fifteen miles west of the island," Edge responded quickly, her voice tight. "They're bringing B-1s!"

Blaze felt his blood run cold at that. He knew full well the threat level a B-1 presented. During the liberation of San Salvation, he had to shoot down six B-1s that the Erusians had sent to raze San Salvation to the ground. The B-1 was extremely fast, carried a payload to rival a B-52's and could fly extremely low thanks to its terrain following radar. Its autopilot could even fly the bomber that low at supersonic speeds. And on a flat piece of ground like the ocean, it would be able to get to Sand Island with almost no problem.

Unless Wardog was able to shoot them down before they had a chance to get to their drop points and annihilate the base that gave the Osean military a great staging area to launch an invasion of Yuktobania. Crowe whipped the Raptor onto the appropriate heading and lit his burners again. The monstrous engines easily trusted the light fighter through Mach 1 to Mach 2. At this speed, he would be able to intercept the bombers from attacking Sand Island.

Chopper was feeling pretty hot in his F-15, having a merry old time killing MiGs and Tornadoes. That was, however, before Blaze blew past him, leaving behind nothing more than a black streak against a rapidly darkening sky, leaving both him and Edge to wallow in his sonic boom.

"Damn, Kid!" Chopper yelled, completely shocked that his flight lead had been moving so fast. Even as he watched the tiny speck out in front of him dive for the ocean, as if he had stopped in midair and just decided to go down. "What the _hell_ did Pops _do_!?"

Chopper's flight lead's laughter was proof the Blaze was having the time of his life, "He gave me a new plan!" Crowe exclaimed, ecstatic to be able to fly the way he always wanted to. He let out another excited whoop that brought a concealed smile to Edge's face. Blaze was feeling much better after the talk she had with him. He was happy, and she couldn't blame him. Pops had just given him one of the best fighter in the world, an F-22 Raptor. She knew it was a Raptor, because of Mobius 1 when he came to rescue her flight in his Raptor, and from the distinctive shape of the speeding fighter's fuselage just before Blaze blew towards the dark expanse of the ocean below.

"Chopper, lets give him some top cover," she suggested, still smiling at their leaders exuberance.

"Roger. Chopper, engaging." Wardog 3 replied as he rolled towards the black water below.

"Edge, engaging," quickly following Chopper's lead.

Meanwhile, Blaze had pulled out of his power dive and was now about six miles in trail with the last B-1. He was busy setting himself up for an AMRAAM shot, since the Sidewinder only had a range of about five miles. He got a decent track and pushed the button. Outside, the belly of his Raptor split open, the doors flicking open in the blink of an eye. An instant later, and a Slammer had punched into the Raptor's slipstream and was already to ending the life of the unlucky B-1.

"Blaze, Fox Three," he called, pulling up into a climbing turn to try and see if any enemy fighters had gotten the bright idea to try and ambush him as he took his shot. Crowe doubted it, though, since the Raptor was, after all, a stealth fighter. That meant that any radar waves that him were either absorbed by the RAM coating his plane or was reflected away by the all the odd angles that covered the F-22. The only time he was really in danger of being positively ID him when he was either turning his large surfaces to an angle that could reflect, or when the hard angles of the plane's innards were exposed, like when he was taking a shot.

"Blaze got a kill!" Edge yelled when she saw one of the dark shapes skimming just above the ocean burst into flame and plowed into the waves, kicking up a gigantic spray.

"Nice job, Kid!" Chopper yelled. If the Kid could do it then, by God, he could, too. He put himself in line with a speeding B-1 and prepared to release his missile.

Crowe's voice forced him to abandon his idea of matching Blaze's achievement, "Chopper! Break! Dammit, where the hell did he come from!?"

Chopper craned his neck, trying to see around his ejection seat. He did manage to see the dark shape of a MiG. The fighter was dead steady and _way_ too close for comfort. Chopper didn't need to be an ace to see that the MiG was just a couple of seconds away from either gunning him down, or launching a missile straight up his tailpipe.

'Crap! I'm dead!' pounded through Chopper's head. There would be no heroic rescue by Bartlett, no Kid coming from out of nowhere to blast the guy in a head-on pass. He was about to die! But salvation came from an unexpected pilot.

"Archer, Fox Two!"

Chopper caught a glimpse of a burning rocket motor streaking into the MiG behind him. The fighter blew up into tiny fragments. Chopper looked around for the plane that fired the shot, finding none, he asked "Hey, who the hell just took out the guy behind me?"

"I don't know, Chopper," Edge replied, clearly puzzled. "I didn't see where the missile came from."

"I did. Bartlett's F-5 is sitting about three hundred feet below me. Blaze supplied. "I caught the flare from the rocket lighting."

"This is Airman First Class Grimm, callsign Archer. Control tower and all aircraft, I will be joining Wardog Squadron," came a bright voice. Crowe knew who had been talking. He'd seen the kid walking around the base, helping mechanic crews and talking with the other pilots. Technically, Grimm was a pilot, too, but he was a spare, one of the pilots who would only take off in the event that Sand Island had no experienced pilots left.

"How the hell did you get up here?" Chopper demanded, none too politely, "You're not even out of replacement pilot training yet!"

"I know," the nugget replied, a little defensive, "They don't have any other pilots ready! The first wave that got through set a whole bunch of crap on fire and they need everyone they can get to help put it out!"

"So you just left?" Edge asked, her tone surprisingly icy for someone who was usually warm and easy to get along with. Of course, she could fly and fight with the best of them, so Crowe supposed looks could be deceiving.

"No! Pops told me to launch while he took my place!" Grimm protested.

Before the argument escalated out of control, Blaze broke it up, "It doesn't matter now. Grimm, cover Davenport. Nagase, you're with me," he snapped, "We've still got four bombers out there. Everyone pick a target and light 'em up!"

"Roger!" the other three said in unison. Seconds later, a new formation tore the darkness in half. The four missiles streaked across the darkened sky, each trailing a smoke trail. It looked like an air show. If air shows involved a formation of fighters killing a bomber formation.

"Be careful, Wardog," came the voice of Thunderhead, "I've got a fighter formation inbound. I've got a negative on the IFF squawk. They're hostile."

"Wondered when he'd decide to start blabbering," Chopper muttered.

Blaze grinned at his comrades annoyance, "This is Wardog, roger that. Give us vectors to intercept," he answered the AWACS

"Enemy is currently inbound, bearing 270, altitude 3000."

As one, the Osean fighter formation peeled up and away, rolling out onto the new heading, putting the hostile bandits right in front of them. Blaze got a radar return, "I have them on radar. I count six echoes. How is everyone on ammo?" he asked. No sense in getting into an engagement that they were going to run out of things to shoot with.

"Edge, I've used on ARAAM and a sidewinder. Three of each left plus a full gun."

Chopper, three Slammers and full gun and all heat-seekers."

"Archer, a full gun, three Sparrows and one Sidewinder."

Blaze nodded, satisfied. That was good. He had both Sidewinders in his side bays, and four AMRAAMs in his ventral bay remaining, along with a full gun.

"Okay. Let's get 'em. Wardog, engage!" Now, the flight split into two elements. Blaze and Edge went one way, while Chopper and Archer went the other.

"Chopper, go high, Edge and I will go low." Blaze commanded. The two elements went to their assigned positions and whiled away the seconds as the opposing flights closed on each other at a combined speed reaching close to seven hundred knots. Finally, they got a lock.

"Fox Three!" all the pilots yelled together before breaking and pushing out countermeasures.

"Thunderhead confirm loss of 1…2…3…4. All four bogeys have been shoot down." Thunderhead reported, elation clear in his voice. "My God, you four are the best damn squadron in Osea." The four pilots of Wardog began congratulating each other as they turned back towards the hopefully still intact Sand Island.

"Sand Island, this is Ford," came the voice of Colonel Ford's over the radio, "I'm out of fuel. Requesting clearance to land, over."

Roger that, Colonel Ford," Sand Island tower answered, "Cleared straight in on 27."

"Fly straight…" the Colonel was cut off mid-sentence and Thunderhead's angry voice left no doubt as to what caused the cut off.

"Son of a bitch! Were the hell did that missile come from! The Colonel's been shot down! I repeat; the Colonel's been shot down! Scramble the rescue choppers! Repeat; scramble the rescue chopper! Now!"

"Roger, Thunderhead. We're scrambling rescue choppers now. ETA, five minutes," the tower informed them. "Wardog, RTB and report for debrief. Colonel Perrault has ordered Airman 1st Class Hans Grimm assigned to Wardog Squadron, effective immediately."

"This is Wardog 1. Roger. Wardog is enroute for debrief. ETA, two minutes." Blaze answered. He heeled his fighter around onto a heading that would take his flight back to base.

The Next Day

Pops was tinkering with one of the new Raptors that were to be delivered to Wardog later that day. It was early morning, the day after the surprise base attack. Pops had to admit, seeing Crow coordinate his flight like that to completely overwhelm is enemies had been truly inspiring. It reminded him of watching the Demon Lord and Solo Wing Pixy killing their enemies, while they protected each other's back in an intricate dance that left any opposition on its way back to the surface of Strangereal.

A shadow stretched up the wall beside him. Smiling, he turned to greet the new arrival, "Well, I see you decided to come, William." he said, a fatherly smile stretching across his face. Will preceded into the hangar and stopped beside him, staring at the Raptors with deep blue eyes that concealed what he was thinking deep within them.

"How long?" he asked simply, arms crossed on his chest. He was getting straight to the point about a topic that clearly made him uncomfortable. How do you start a conversation with someone you'd been lying to since you met them?

"Since the moment I saw you with all the nuggets," the balding Belkan ace replied gently. He didn't want to cut Crowe off from him. The kid was an extraordinary pilot and flight lead, not to mention a skilled mechanic.

"How'd you find out? I was careful not to let anything slip," Crowe said softly.

"I was on vacation near Crowne Beach," Pops answered. "They were running a special about you… and the bombing of Allenfort, while I was there." Maybe adding the part about Allenfort wasn't the best thing to do. But how else would Pops know how Crowe would react to the news that his cover had been blown by simple chance?

Crowe's expression darkened. "That damn day," he muttered angrily, "How the hell did the press get a photo of me? High Command made sure my identity was never revealed to the public in the fear of a terrorist attack."

"I don't know, Kid" Pops answered, shrugging his shoulders, "It wasn't really a good picture of you, though. Most of it was blurry, but even still, I know a face when I see it."

Crowe nodded slowly, "So, Crowne Beach, huh? How do the beaches look? It's been years since I've been at the beaches in Southern Usea."

"Pristine." Pops answered. "I was shocked at how _clean_ it was, considering a war was fought there a few years ago." Pops could see that Crowe needed to open up. It was as clear as day that he missed his buddies back home. That was the nature of the pilot fraternity. They were all close, loved to party and pull pranks on each other and would die for one another faster than one could blink. But Crowe looked as if he still blamed himself for what happened at Allenfort.

"What about you, Pops? Do you miss your flying buddies," Crowe asked, which completely shocked Pops. He didn't miss the people, who dropped the nukes on Belkan soil without hesitation, did he? He thought for a moment and realized he did indeed miss them. Well, some of them anyway.

"Heh," the elderly mechanic smiled, "Do you know about me?"

"No. But I had a hunch. You drilled BFM into the nuggets than the instructors back in Usea did." Crowe said, "How could you not be an ace?"

"Well, okay. I'll tell you then, Pops said comfortably. "Ever hear of Huckebein the Raven?"

"A little," Crowe admitted, "I heard he went MIA when the Belkan dropped the nuclear bombs." Pops eyes widened in surprise. Crowe had heard of him? That was definitely unusual. Most people outside Belka didn't even know his name.

"Yeah, he went MIA. But he's still alive," Pops said, keeping his tone low, but light. Crowe looked at him with suspicious narrowed eyes.

"You're the Raven, aren't you?" Crowe said simply, completely positive that this old, friendly mechanic was in fact a Belkan ace.

"What gave it away?" Pops said, smiling at his little joke. "That right. I'm the Raven. Though, I'm not as famous as you or the Demon Lord. At least until I said I wasn't going to drop a nuke on one of our cities I was fighting to protect."

Crowe snorted, "Fame. I never wanted to be famous. All I wanted was revenge," he said coldly.

"Revenge?" Pops questioned, shocked by what Crowe had said.

"Yeah, revenge. It's the reason I became a pilot, to get revenge on the Erusians."

"Why?"

"Because the bastards murdered my family." Crowe said, his tone sorrowful, mixed with anger.

Pops was puzzled. Crowe became a pilot so he could get revenge on the Erusians for killing his family? In made sense, he guessed. And against his better judgment, Pops decided to find out more. "Oh, I see. How did they die?" Pops asked.

Crowe's head slightly dropped, as he looked away from Pops for a few seconds, mustering up the courage to relive an event that he didn't even tell his squad mates, before answering Pops question, "Killed by Erusian bombers. The Erusians indiscriminately bombed my hometown to rubble. Both my parents were killed in my house when a bomb fell on it, and my sister's high school was also hit…" A mixture of sadness and anger washed over Crowe's face "The last thing my sister said to me before she died in my arms, was that she loved me. Everyone I cared about died that day, so I made it my vendetta, to kill Erusians the same whey they did my family. From the air, as a pilot."

Crowe removed a small blue Mobius strip from his pocket and revealed it to Pops. "This Ribbon belonged to my sister. She gave me it the day before she died. It was her good luck charm. And when I joined the ISAF Air Force, I used my sisters Ribbon to become Mobius One, a pilot seeking revenge for my parents and my sister. So there you have it, the reason I became a pilot. And a past I never told anyone except you." Crowe looked at the Ribbon with a sad smile for a second, before placing it back in his pocket. "I never told anyone that before, Pops, not even to my squadron back in Usea, and I have to say, it feels good to get that off my chest to someone."

Pops nodded in understanding. _Damn and I thought the Demon Lord had it rough. Poor Kid lost everyone he cared about, but that's what drove him to become the man he is today. And getting something like what you just told me off your chest is a good thing, Kid; It'll help you open up some more._

"Do you ever consider going back to Usea, to see your old squadron mates again?" Pops asked.

"I can't, and you know why, Pops. My fame brought nothing but pain to my friends. The terrorist attack on Allenfort was the reason I left. Twenty-six innocent people died by Free Erusia hands… And one of my buddies lost both of his legs from the bomb. He can never fly again, and it was my entire fault. I made sure something like that never happened, so I packed my bags and left. And now here I am, talking to you about my past." Crowe said. The last thing he wanted was his past to follow him here.

"How about you, Pops, why are you here?" Crowe asked, to which the old man gave a heavy sigh.

"I'm a traitor. If I ever show my face in Belka again, I'll disappear."

"Disappear? What do mean?"

"I man that I will just vanish and never be heard from again," he smiled bitterly. "They view me as a traitor, especially the hard-liners. They are known as the Grey Men. Let it go at that, trust me, you'll be much happier if you do."

Crowe just nodded. If it kept things simple, the he'd leave it at that. "So I guess were both just trying to escape our past, aren't we?" Crowe asked.

Pops smiled, "Yep. We're two peas in a pod, huh?"

"I guess so." Crowe said with a small smile plastered on his face. He turned to leave.

"Will!" Pops voice stopped him. Crowe turned to look at the other ace that was wearing a gentile smile. "If you ever need to talk some more, you know where to find me," the Raven called him.

"Same to you, Pops," The Ribbon returned. The two aces went their separate ways.

Nagase looked around for Crowe, wondering where her flight lead was. They had a briefing on their next mission in five minutes and they couldn't start without the man who would lead them into battle. Crowe was usually at least ten minutes early. Where could he be?

"What's up, Nagase?" She jumped when a voice suddenly spoke behind her. The female pilot whirled around to see the man who scared her standing behind her with and an amused smile on his face for startling her.

"Where have you been?" she asked, curiosity clear in her voice. Crowe had been acting strange ever since she had seen that newspaper from Usea. It had hit her in that moment that she didn't know her flight lead as well as she thought she did.

"I was in the hangar with Pops and lost track of time," he answered. That was partially true at least. He _had_ been with Pops and had almost lost track of time, but he had taken the time to walk back to the briefing room building. And it didn't help that the two building were on the opposite side of the base.

"Well c'mon!" Kei insisted, trying to drag Crowe down the hall, "We have a briefing in a few minutes and you know Perrault won't be happy with you if you miss it!"

"Hah! You make it sound like a actually care about what that fat ass thinks."

Crowe's words stopped Kei dead in her tracks, "Why do you say that? You know he could have you transferred if he felt like it." Nagase was shocked that he didn't looked concerned with it.

"He won't," Crowe confidently replied, "We're the best, most effective and most experienced combat unit in all of Usea." He wouldn't dare piss off the Joint Chiefs by disbanding us. They would take this base from him faster than it takes to blink." He gave her a lopsided grin and brushed past Kei. Edge was rooted to where she stood. For an instant, that had been Bartlett smiling at her. Was Blaze as good a commander as the old leatherneck had? Crowe had shown that he was more than capable of being in command. Now they would have to see if he could get them all through this war alive.

"Settle down people," Perrault said unnecessarily. The room had been called to attention the moment he had entered the room. He absolutely loved that. The only thing the fat base commander had to do was walk into the room and everyone would drop whatever they were doing just to acknowledge him. It was a great way to inflate the ego of a fat man who had never been in combat. He'd taken the pencil pusher way to the top and most of combat pilots resented him for it.

_At least the higher-ups were smart enough to give him command of a training base instead of a major base like the one near Oured, _Crowe thought bitterly. Of all the officer he'd worked and flown with, Perrault was definitely in the dead last slot. _Too bad this has been the first line of defense for Osea as of late._

"Okay," the pudgy base commander began, "Your next mission is to escort our three carriers into our inland sea in order for us to use them as a way to launch a counter-attack on Yuktobania."

At this moment the Intel Officer took over, "You will fly top cover for the Vulture, Buzzard, and Kestrel, which escaped the attack on St. Hewlett, thanks to your efforts. Once the carriers enter the inland sea, the Yukes will be unable to attack them." Uneasy feeling washed over Crowe after that statement. He didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling the mission was going to go south really quick.

"The situation will be fluid, so we have two of your Raptors with the air-air loadout and the other two with the air-to-ground. You can work out who gets which Raptor. You will be flying with wing tanks. That is all." That statement made Crowe quietly groan in frustration. The Raptor had points on its wings where droppable pylons could be mounted, to boost its range, like they were doing now, or to add on additional missiles. Though, it meant sacrificing two of the Raptors biggest advantages; its stealth and some of its blistering maneuverability.

"Room, Ten-HUT!" Crowe yelled, and the four pilots sprang to their feet, ramrod straight and trying to drill a hole in the wall with their eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, Crowe saw the fat commander salute and walk out of the room, leaving the pilots to their preparations for the upcoming mission.


End file.
